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Was she OK? Obviously she wasn’t OK. Could she handle it? Although her family, her friends and her colleagues thought Alice could handle anything, Toby knew there were limits, and he feared Alice was near hers.

He knew he should have confidence in Alice’s ability to get herself out of jail: in her ingenuity, in her father’s influence and effectiveness, in her innocence. But in the small hours of the morning, he was afraid that somehow she would remain ensnared in the justice system. That she would be tried and found guilty for murder. That she would spend the rest of her life in jail. Away from him.

He couldn’t let that happen.

And then he thought of Sam, and of his pregnant girlfriend. It was so much worse for her — worse than for Alice, worse than for the rest of the Guth family. Sam had struck him as a really nice guy and he was far too young to die.

Who the hell had killed him? Was it someone currently asleep in that very house? Or in the Cottage next door? Or was it, after all, Alice, in her police cell?

Eventually, sleep had pulled Toby under and freed him from his increasingly muddled speculation.

He glanced at the row of wine bottles by the kitchen window, and poured himself some coffee. Without Alice around to organize it, breakfast was just toast and blueberry jam, which for some reason the Guths kept in the fridge. No marmalade.

‘Are you going to see the lawyer this morning?’ he asked Bill.

‘Yes. A bit later. I’m meeting someone here first.’

‘Can I come?’ Toby asked.

‘No, don’t worry. I’ll handle the lawyer. And the police won’t let either of us see Alice.’

‘I’d like to try,’ Toby said. ‘And I’d like to talk to this lawyer. I’m sure she’s good, and I’m sure you can handle her, but Alice is my wife, and I’d like to be involved.’

‘OK,’ Bill said. ‘I’ll take you.’

‘Who are you meeting here?’ Megan asked her father.

Bill hesitated, but then decided to reply. ‘Admiral Robinson. He was the executive officer on the Alexander Hamilton . He retired a few months ago.’

‘Interesting,’ said Megan. ‘So he flew over from the States?’

‘Yeah,’ said Bill, looking uncomfortable. ‘I contacted him when I heard about Sam Bowen. I guess he jumped on a plane.’

‘Why?’ said Megan.

Bill looked at his daughter, the blunt questions clearly riling him. ‘I guess he’ll tell me when I see him.’

Toby wanted to ask more, as did Megan, such as if Sam’s murder had nothing to do with the Alexander Hamilton why was an admiral flying all the way here from America? But they could both tell from her father’s face there was no point.

Toby slotted some bread in the toaster, and Brooke appeared in the kitchen.

She looked nervous, but then she had looked nervous ever since Sam had been killed.

‘Brooke! Have some breakfast,’ Bill said. ‘Where’s Justin?’

‘He’s taking the bags out of the Cottage to our car,’ said Brooke. ‘We’re leaving.’

‘Back to Chicago?’ said Bill.

‘No. We’ve got a room in Hunstanton. Justin wants to stay around in case the police need him.’

Bill’s lips pursed. He clearly didn’t like that response. ‘Can’t you stay? I know Justin is angry, but we need you here.’

Megan nodded vigorously in agreement, although Toby noticed Maya just looked on, her expression blank.

‘Justin feels...’ Brooke searched for the word. ‘Betrayed. And I kind of understand that. I’m sorry, Dad.’

She hesitated and then rushed over to give him a quick kiss on the forehead. Megan got to her feet to give her a hug, as did Maya. With a wave to Lars and Toby, she was gone.

‘She should have stayed without him,’ Bill said.

‘You make her choose between us and her husband, she’s going to choose her husband,’ Megan said. ‘And you can see Justin’s point.’

‘I cannot see Justin’s point,’ Bill growled. ‘I thought that guy had more sense. He used to.’

Maya was still standing from her hug with her sister. ‘Daddy?’

‘Yes?’ Bill’s expression was wary.

‘I’m really sorry, but I’m going to have to fly out of Heathrow this afternoon. To New York. The airline has been in touch. I’m really, really sorry.’

‘What! Didn’t you tell them there was a family emergency?’

‘I’d cashed in some chips to spend Thanksgiving here. They wanted me to do a New York sector and I couldn’t say no. Airlines are tough on their employees these days.’

‘Didn’t you tell them about Alice?’

‘I didn’t tell them my sister had been accused of murder. Hopefully, they won’t find out. I’m sorry I’ve got to leave, Daddy. It’s not like I can do anything useful here.’

Bill shook his head and looked down at his coffee. ‘When are you going?’

Maya glanced at the clock on the wall. ‘In about an hour.’

‘OK,’ said Bill, defeated. ‘Do what you have to do.’ He got to his feet. ‘I’ll be in my study.’

‘I’d better go and pack,’ said Maya after he’d left the room.

‘You’ve got a boyfriend there,’ said Megan.

‘What?’

Megan just raised her eyebrows. Maya coloured and repeated herself. ‘I’ve got to go and pack.’

‘She always does that,’ said Megan, after Maya had left the room. ‘If there’s any family trouble, she runs.’

‘How did you know there was a boyfriend?’

‘I could tell. There are lots of boyfriends with Maya. There’s always a boyfriend. But I can’t believe she is walking out on us now.’

Megan grinned sheepishly at Toby. ‘I’m the only sister left. That doesn’t bode well for Alice.’

‘Your dad will do what’s necessary,’ said Lars.

‘I hope so,’ said Megan, doubt in her voice.

Toby buttered his toast.

‘I’m going for a walk,’ said Lars.

‘Can you hang on a couple of minutes until I’ve finished this?’ said Toby. ‘And we had better take Rickover.’

Bill kept his house a little on the warm side, in Toby’s opinion, and so it was a relief to get out into the fresh Norfolk air.

It was a clear late-autumn day, with only a few white puffs of cloud skipping through the sky. There was a stiff breeze, and it was cold on Toby’s cheeks, invigorating.

Lars headed out across the dyke towards the sea, and Toby was happy to follow him. The marsh was alive with the gurgle of water and the fluster of small unseen birds. The tide was low in the creek, and a pair of curlews picked their way carefully over the mud towards a beached red fishing boat, tied uselessly to its orange mooring. Behind them, the village of grey flint and red brick curled up safe and cosy between the marsh and the low ridge behind it, watched over by the windmill. Rickover was happy sniffing the morning news: the dyke was a favourite of dog walkers.

They didn’t speak for several minutes. Toby was wary of Lars. He was a criminal, he had been in jail. He had just admitted to killing someone thirty-five years before. Yet something drew Toby to him. Maybe it was Lars’s vulnerability — life had given him a rough ride. But Toby also sensed integrity in Lars. Loyalty. Honour. Despite himself, he almost trusted him.

Almost.

Toby hunched up in his coat and scarf. ‘This has got to seem cold to you.’

‘Are you kidding?’ said Lars. ‘This is nothing compared to Wisconsin. And it’s good to be outside.’

‘Yes, sorry,’ Toby said. ‘I was thinking of the Caribbean.’

‘I try not to,’ said Lars.

They were at the dunes, and followed the board path through the sand, temporarily sheltered from the wind. A cloud of small brown birds erupted from a black thorn bush next to them, chattered and settled down twenty yards away.